Monday, May 08, 2006

the return of peter stuyvesant and the acidipholus without a proper plan

During the weekend there was sunshine and waving temperatures. There was whiskey and rice and beans. There was Australian acupuncture hungover in the shower for hours. An Escher-street neighborhood tangling with big eyes and armor. A crackhead begging, slinging racism. Jogging. There was so much pollen that heads exploded, littered streets. There was a vandal marking ugly black letters on a pretty blue car. There was code. There was Dutch history. There was fabricated thumb-wrestling victory. There was second-hand book-shopping and imaginary marriage in a tree farm. There were sad people and happy people. Scared people and blind people. Pizza for breakfast and strong bumpers during collisions. In the end, chopsticks were resilient and yellow cartoon-people were arrested.

Over at Pitchfork there is an interview with Doug Martsch and one with Leslie Feist. This pleases me. However, both end as if the interviewer were suddenly kidnapped by aliens.

You are in reverse and I am on roller skates. I’ve decided I very much like the new Built to Spill album and I’d like to invite Doug Martsch over for stew and sake. We could enjoy a little basketball on the television and make the rest up as we go.

1 Comments:

Blogger Sara said...

Unfortunately it was. Fortunately I've gotten most of it off. I still need to give it another cleansing.

I would never write on anyone's car.

12:32 PM  

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